


Monsters Make Good Lovers

by WhiskeySalad



Series: Monsters Make Good Lovers [1]
Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: A gentleman and a scholar hahaha, Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottomlouis, Compulsive sexual behavior, Daniel gets a little hardcore, Dom/sub Play, Hair-pulling, He's into it what can I say, I wasn't expecting that either, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, ball-nuzzling, blood-drinking, flirting?Louis, implied dubious/non- consent, mortalDaniel, proud Armand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-09-16 10:45:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16952544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiskeySalad/pseuds/WhiskeySalad
Summary: Pre-QOTD. What if Louis joined Armand and Daniel in New York during the nebulous period before Lestat's concert?





	1. Chapter 1

And of course he'd seen the images of the Vampire Lestat on TV, years after he'd gone looking for him in that rundown mansion where he'd happened across a discarded pocket watch and mountains of books stacked to the ceiling, but no ailing blond vampire. The vampire he'd found instead was perfectly healthy, and, well, a bit of a “personality” himself—this small, angelic creature whose dark eyes and rather compelling late-night rituals had absorbed him completely now for the better part of a decade.

And it had occurred to Daniel that maybe Lestat's triumphant emergence in California was the reason Louis was here, across the country, in New York. And then, just possibly, it might have been the book. *Whoops. Sorry, Louis. My bad. But yours, as well.* In any case, Lestat had been reincarnated as a rock star and all hell was breaking loose, and just yesterday Armand had announced that Louis would be joining them here in their private sanctuary, staying with Daniel in his apartment. Ancient ones were flooding the country, and it wasn't safe, and Louis was so very vulnerable (despite the bodies—human and vampire alike—piled up at his feet).

He almost killed me, Daniel might have said, if it hadn't been totally unnecessary. Of course Armand was well aware.

*But he didn't, my love*, Armand said silently, reading Daniel's thoughts. And you liked it, Armand might have said, smirking, if *that* hadn't been totally unnecessary, because, yeah, he'd liked it.

That went without saying. After all, what the hell was he still doing here, doing whatever the fuck he was doing with Armand, if he hadn't liked it.

He'd walked into his apartment sometime after midnight knowing Armand wouldn't be there. He was on-duty that night, on patrol, or whatever. He didn't tell Daniel anything. Was he swooping down dark alleys, oozing from shadow to shadow in that eerie way of his? Was he busy broadcasting threats of *Keep away* and *Fuck off* from an undisclosed location? Was he off chasing some new obsession? Daniel didn't know. It wasn't his business to know. But someone was there in that apartment with him.

Daniel had chosen this place himself. Years of unbridled excess had begun to wear him thin, make him feel as if he were being pulled slowly apart and made distant from himself in some critical way. The apartment was simple and drab, just a sitting room and a bedroom and a bathroom, and a little shitty balcony he could smoke on, though he mostly smoked inside. Threadbare couch. Big TV. Soft, narrow bed. This was all familiar. This was comforting. (Far more comforting than the “amulet” he wore against his skin, with the tiny vial of Armand's blood inside.)

But now there was someone standing on his balcony. Well, it wasn't a mystery, who it was. He instantly recognized the long, slender figure. But his hair was longer this time; it was thick and black like before, but now it hung just past his shoulders in unruly waves.

Louis must have known he was there, and he was waiting—waiting, Daniel realized, for Daniel to see him from a safe, appropriate distance. He didn't want to surprise him. How thoughtful. How strangely *Louis*. Why the fuck wasn't Armand here? To at least reintroduce them, if this is what was really happening, if Louis was meant to be staying here with Daniel against Daniel's will. Well, without taking Daniel's wishes into account, at least, whatever they were. The figure finally turned, slid open the door, and entered the dimly-lit room with that familiar, understated grace that made Daniel feel hopelessly gangly and clumsy, as well as reluctantly fascinated; he understood why they all followed him around.

Daniel walked toward the vampire slowly, but without hesitation. This was his place after all, why should he cower in his own home? And he wasn't afraid of Louis, not really. He was a little pissed, sure, for being left to die, more or less, but that was it—just a grudge, and that grudge was fading, replaced by newer, more complicated grudges against an entirely different otherworldly asshole. He really wasn't frightened of anything anymore, how could he be? And for whatever reason this thought left him feeling more hollow than it usually did.

Louis held out his hand. Of course. How polite for the mass murderer who had just broken into his home. What a hilarious gesture. Daniel clasped it easily. The skin was too cool, too smooth—but not freezing, not monstrous.

“Daniel.” The voice was low and flat, as Daniel remembered it. That did give him chills, thinking about the last time he'd heard it. Daniel waited a moment, to see if Louis would say anything more. But no. No acknowledgment of the strange fact that Louis was here, or what had happened before. Just his name, to show that he remembered him, perhaps. But what would Louis have said, exactly? Daniel didn't know. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it hadn't mattered that much to Louis, in the scheme of things. And he did hate him for that, a little.

When it became clear that nothing was forthcoming, Daniel nodded and released Louis' hand, and walked past him to the window in that same casual way. He took the pack of cigarettes from his pocket and unlatched the window. He didn't know how a person was supposed to act under these circumstances. He'd wanted a cigarette, and to be as close to the real world and real people as he could possibly get without outright fleeing the room—so he'd opted for the next best thing. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Louis' white face hanging eerily in the center of the room where he'd left him. Possibly, Louis—for all his poise and serenity—didn't know how a person was supposed to act in a situation like this, either. The thought struck Daniel as funny, and he took a quick drag on his cigarette. *Don't laugh at him*, he told himself. *He doesn't like that*.

After a few moments, Louis moved forward, stepping up to the window at the opposite corner of the wall, careful to maintain some distance from Daniel while remaining respectfully in his eyeline.

For his part, Daniel ignored him, smoking silently and tapping his ash on the sill. He didn't know what to say. He didn't even know what was happening exactly, how much danger they were really in, how Louis had come all the way from California to New York—or if he should ask. Or maybe he just didn't want to be told what he already knew: that Armand had brought him here. Because Armand wanted him here. For reasons Daniel didn't understand, though they hadn't necessarily seemed romantic. Armand owed it to Louis, that's what he'd said. But Daniel hadn't understood that either. Well—he did, and then, he didn't.

Louis had been gazing out the window at the brick facade of the building across the street. But something had changed in his face as he stood there. His mask had dropped a little. And he didn't seem to be aware of Daniel anymore. Again Daniel felt that little stab of resentment. But it passed. He was too busy studying Louis.

He'd seemed larger than life in that shabby room off Divisadero Street, but Daniel realized for the first time that Louis was smaller than him, shorter, and narrower in places—his waist, his wrists—than even Daniel himself was. And he noticed for the first time that evening that Louis' clothes—black sweater and black jeans—were faded and tattered. He looked young and small to him, the way Armand could look young and small. Like Armand, Louis hadn't been very old when he'd been turned. Just 25. Younger than Daniel was now.

Finally Louis turned his eyes to Daniel. They were large, but not huge, not round. The cheekbones sloping away at a sharp angle just below the lower lashes made them appear larger than they were. They were beautifully-shaped, with thick black lashes, and of course they were still the same rich, dark green. But tonight they looked flat and impossibly distant.

His hair, while disheveled, was silky, and his skin was gleaming, and as Daniel watched, Louis' lips parted infinitesimally and his eyes seemed to come into focus, flickering to life, as if registering something in Daniel's face.

Daniel's eyes were drawn to Louis' mouth. He couldn't see the fangs but he was suddenly forced to remember they were there.

A wave of arousal spiked in his chest, his loins, caught him off-guard, buoyed confusedly on the sudden, unexpected tenderness he'd felt at recognizing Louis' seeming frailty, which, he knew, was a lie—and all these things, these mixed feelings, acknowledging the illusion, only excited him more. Like it always did.

Louis' lips closed and he blinked, and Daniel put his cigarette out on the sill, blowing a final lungful of smoke out the window, and walked over to him. Why the hell not, Daniel told himself. I can talk to him, can't I? I can lie to myself just like everyone else and bury my true motives somewhere deep within my world-weary and tortured little soul, and maybe I'll grow my hair out and maybe I'll start drinking even more, and maybe Armand will turn me then.

“Daniel,” Louis said, but he said it differently than he had before. His voice was very soft now, and his brows had come together slightly.

What had Armand told him, in the beginning? That it was no surprise to Armand that Louis had left him alive? That Louis would have found him beautiful, and been unable in the end to destroy him, for that reason? Daniel should have felt insulted by that insight, but he had not. It wasn't that he lacked self-respect. He just didn't mind casting it aside now and then, for a good enough reason. For instance, the knowledge that he'd been too pretty to die. That was just flattering. And that Louis himself had found him so.

“Daniel,” Louis said again, as if his name were the only word he knew how to say, and Daniel came to a stop a few feet away from him. “Please forgive me.”

This brought Daniel's thoughts to a stop as well. “What?”

“I told you my story with my own ends in mind and expected something from you that was … unreasonable.”

Daniel almost did laugh then. A real talent for comic understatement, this one.

“I tend to disappoint people,” Daniel said with only a little sarcasm, leaning against the wall. “Don't worry about it.” Louis had not, Daniel noticed, apologized for attacking him.

No sooner had he had this thought than Louis was right in front of him, as if materializing from the void, the way Armand could, and Daniel sucked in a breath. “I *am* sorry,” Louis said in that soft, mournful voice, nearly a whisper. They were close, in the dark, very close, and he couldn't see Louis' face—and suddenly he was certain it was going to happen again, Louis was going to bite him, and all he could do was stand there and wait for it. Louis tilted his head to speak into Daniel's ear instead. “I'd like to make up for it somehow, if you'd permit it. But I can't give you the Blood.” Daniel pulled away, startled. “And I can't take it from you.”

Daniel felt himself go red—agitated, and yes. Flustered. And possibly a little horny. This “I'd like to make it up to you” business (surely Louis hadn't intended it to sound that way?). And just the bare mention of the Blood. And of course, Louis' closeness. That was enough. That was all it took. “I don't want it from you,” he lied. “I'm—” he struggled to articulate what he was. “You know. ” He didn't want to try to describe his relationship with Armand, didn't want to hear how it would sound to his own ears.

Louis stayed where he was. He folded his hands in front of him. “I've fed tonight. I'm no danger to you. But I can go if you'd like.”

“No,” Daniel sighed. “No, I don't want you to go.” He scrubbed his face with his hand. It smelled like tobacco. It made something tingle in the tips of his fingers. “I'm not angry with you. It's just—You know—” Just tell him. He already knows. Just say it, it doesn't matter. “I suppose I still have this—It's a stupid crush. Like a kid. It doesn't mean anything. It just makes it weird around you. Weirder.”

“A crush,” Louis whispered, as if he didn't know what Daniel meant. But of course he did. His eyes did look large now, catching the light from outside. He'd tucked his hair behind his ears, but it sprang forward again, falling messily over his cheek. He looked soft like that, gentle, and from up close Daniel could see that he *had* fed—his lips and cheeks were subtly pink. Daniel wondered if he was doing this on purpose—flirting, almost, or the vampiric approximation of flirting, which was a little scary, which meant Daniel couldn't help but respond to it. And that could only mean—what? That Louis was playing with him?

“Nothing can happen anyway,” Daniel said, and his voice sounded strange to his own ears.

“What do you mean?”

Oh, goddamn it. He *was* playing with him. Daniel's face felt hot again. “You know what I mean. We can't do anything. Not … the Blood. We can't even fuck.”

He used the word to throw Louis off, to offend him, make him as uncomfortable as Daniel felt just then. But it didn't seem to have worked. Louis had only grown very still, and was watching Daniel with a detached, calm benevolence.

“So it's harmless, is all I mean,” Daniel finished irritably.

“But we can,” Louis said gently.

Daniel stared at him. His heart caught in his chest.

Louis was looking out the window again, as if Daniel didn't exist, as if he hadn't just said what he'd said. “Sometimes when I'm with mortals—It happens. Sometimes I let them do it.”

“You let mortals fuck you.” The words just came out, flat with shock. Daniel couldn't believe what he was hearing. Had never considered—Well, that's a lie. He'd considered, dreamed, such a thing was possible. If he hadn't been so intimidated the first time they'd “met,” he might have been thinking of it then. He certainly thought of it later, in full detail. He found himself imagining it now. He imagined them both back in that room. Bending Louis over the table, pinning him down. Making him whine, and cry, and beg for it. But even if they could, it wouldn't be like that. Daniel would enjoy it, but Louis wouldn't, not really. “The pale shadow” and so forth. So why was he ...

“If you want to, we can.” Louis was in front of him again. He placed his hands on Daniel's arms, very lightly. “I thought I should tell you.”

“Louis ...”

Louis shifted just slightly. He brought one hand to Daniel's cheek and rested the other on his chest. Just barely touching. So close to movement. About to move. Daniel could feel the strange, cool skin through the fabric of his shirt and it activated something in him, something his body remembered despite himself. He brought his hands to Louis' hips.

Louis' lips had parted again, and this time, the points of his little fangs showed. He was looking up at Daniel, and Daniel couldn't help notice how perfectly he fit in his arms; Louis felt very small, suddenly, very slight and delicate, and Daniel couldn't do anything but lean forward to kiss him. Louis' lips were smooth, as he knew they would be. As he remembered them. It was a brief, chaste kiss, but Daniel was already hard. Because it was a lie. Louis was making himself fragile and light, he was engineering this whole thing. Because he could. Because he was powerful, and deadly. And that was fucking hot. It made the hair on the back of Daniel's neck stand up.

He does it with mortals? Does he like it? Does he—kill—them after? Oh, god, he lets them fuck him. And suddenly Daniel could see it. He could see these men fucking Louis, and Louis letting them. *Letting* them. That was the key. His cock twitched. The table. Louis' long legs spreading for him. His hair long like it was tonight, and Daniel grabbing it, pulling it, so that his back arched and his eyes squeezed shut and—he could do that. Louis was offering that. Offering himself.

But—this was too much. It didn't make sense. Daniel felt the need to say something even if it would shatter this strange, fragile moment, even as he became aware of his own fingers moving with a mind of their own, pressing into the curve at the small of Louis' back, aching to dip below the waistband of his jeans. Louis' eyes had darkened and he was leaning into Daniel's erection, as if he wanted it. As if he actually did want it. “But,” Daniel said shakily, “you won't like it.”

“I will,” Louis said. “I do.”

“But—”

“Daniel,” Louis said, moving his hands down Daniel's body and stopping at his fly. “I want to.” He brushed his fingers against the button of Daniel's jeans with one hand. With the other he palmed Daniel's cock. And Daniel gasped. Actually gasped. What else could he do.

Louis leaned his head against Daniel's shoulder. Daniel was frozen for a moment. But then he carefully raised one hand to brush Louis' hair aside, exposing his neck. Such a long, graceful neck. He pressed his mouth to it. No scent, like Armand. But softer. He licked it. Louis' hands tightened around him.

“I'm not so different from you, in this way, Daniel,” Louis said quietly into the space below his chin. He released Daniel's dick and his hand roamed down his thigh and back up, as if he liked the feel of it, and he traced the outline of his cockhead through his pants, as if he liked that too. Daniel was rock-hard and shaking. Louis cupped him again and held him there, massaging him from time to time. “I didn't really die, you know. My heart never stopped beating. And ... ” Louis let him go and straightened, so that they faced one another. “It's pleasurable being touched like this. Like we're touching now. The sensations don't vary much, but—” He rocked his body against Daniel's. “—the effects …”

“Jesus,” Daniel growled. He hadn't understood what Louis was saying, not at all. But he could feel Louis' cock rub against his own. It felt hard. Not erect—but thick, heavy.

“I want to,” Louis said. “Because it feels good. And because I like you. Daniel. I like you.”

Daniel didn't say anything, only shut his eyes and groaned against the press of Louis' body. Then he drug Louis closer to kiss him again, and this time he didn't hold back. His hands roamed over Louis' body, dropping again to his ass. Before he could stop himself, his fingers were sliding inside his jeans. Louis made a small noise in his throat as Daniel caressed him there.

Daniel withdrew his hand suddenly. “I don't know if—I don't know if he—”

Louis laughed softly, but not kindly, and the sound sent chills down Daniel's spine. “You should know better, by now.” He undid Daniel's fly, reached inside. “Doesn't he like to watch you? With others?” He squeezed.

“Yeah,” Daniel said dazedly. And it was true. Armand was probably watching them now, from wherever he was. And he certainly wasn't intervening. Fuck, this was probably one of Armand's ultimate fantasies. Him and Louis, together. And shit, what if … Had Armand watched Louis, back when they were living together? Had Louis gotten fucked in front of him, and had Armand gone inside his head and lit everything up until the world was a haze of pleasure, and talked to him while it was happening, praised him like he did Daniel, murmured secret, filthy things to him?

He didn't have a chance to ask, because Louis was dropping to his knees in front of Daniel, and suddenly Daniel's pants were pooled on the floor around his ankles. Was he seriously intending—His teeth. Oh god. But Louis had already taken him in his mouth. And Daniel's hands were in his hair, clutching hard as his cock hit the back of Louis' throat. Louis bobbed his head on it a few times, somehow keeping his fangs in check. He looked up at Daniel briefly. In the dim light, Louis' eyes looked almost black, and for a moment, Daniel remembered he should be frightened. Not human. Not safe. But just when that spike of fear hit his gut, Louis drew back. He pressed his palm flat along the base of Daniel's cock, holding it up against his belly, and leaned forward to nuzzle open-mouthed against his balls. Daniel sucked in a breath. Louis was doing this to him. *Louis*.

*A gentleman and a scholar*, he thought dazedly, and managed to keep from laughing at his own dumb thoughts. Still, it was surreal! Maybe Louis had killed him, and he was dead, and the electric signals jumping around in his still-dying mind were producing this utterly fantastic final image. And it was good, and right.

“Fuck,” he said, “Louis.” And petted fondly at his hair.

Louis mouthed him there carefully, sucking and licking, his eyes closed, and Daniel looked down at him—at his lithe body arched beautifully, his ass in the air and rocking slightly with his movements, and Daniel wanted him, wanted to be inside him right that moment, he wanted Louis out of those clothes and Louis' legs wrapped around his waist, he wanted to fill him with his cum over and over again, forever—and as he had that thought, he saw Louis' knees slide just a bit further apart, as if to make room.

God, had he broadcasted those images? How strong were Louis' powers these days? Before he could get any further on this train* of thought, Louis laid a long, wide swath from Daniel's balls to the tip of his dick, and took Daniel back into his mouth. After a few long, almost worshipful strokes, Louis pulled back, looking up at Daniel with his fingertips resting on Daniel's thighs. His lips and cheeks were smeared with spit, and glistening. He must have felt it but he didn't wipe it away.

Daniel moved his hand reflexively to his dick, clamping it by the base, and turned away, as things had gotten rather urgent all of the sudden. Jesus. He was breathing hard. Louis stood up and Daniel stayed where he was, slightly hunched, and concentrating on slowing his breaths, trying to focus on not picturing his cum coating that pretty face that had been gazing up at him with, he thought, an expression of anticipation and need. After a few moments he realized he was standing there like an idiot with his legs still trapped in his pants. He stepped out of them, detangling himself, and pulled his shirt over his head. He did all this without really thinking about it. He could have simply pulled his pants back up, but he had not. He was taking off his clothes because this was the part when he took off his clothes, with anyone else. He was going through the motions. And now he had to tell himself that he was naked at the moment because maybe he just felt like it, maybe he was just undressing for bed in the living room--he was free to do that, he was free to just say goodnight and go to bed if that's what he chose to do, he could stop this thing here with Louis at any time.

“Daniel.”

He still couldn't look at Louis. He didn't know why. Well, he did. He wanted him badly. He hadn't wanted anyone this much since Armand. And Armand had never made him such an offer—though, to be fair, he'd given him many things, and been the source of countless mind-blowing experiences of total, annihilating, transcendent pleasure (he put an extra emphasis on these thoughts in case Armand was listening). Still, right now, in this moment, he didn't know if he could keep his hands off Louis another second, and he was afraid of the force of that need. He'd gone clammy, jittery.

“Daniel.”

Daniel placed his shirt on the windowsill with more care than it required. “Yes?”

But Louis didn't say anything.

Daniel did look at him then, annoyed. Louis was standing there looking oddly composed with his hair mussed and his face still wet.

“What?”

“Please. Do what you want with me. You've thought about it, haven't you? I saw it, in your mind—flashes. What you imagined.” Louis stepped closer to him. He leaned his clothed chest against Daniel's naked one, his head against Daniel's neck. Louis held very still. Daniel hadn't removed the amulet, and he could feel it digging into his breastbone, like a reminder, like a voice asking, What the fuck are you doing? He was frozen again. Those were just fantasies. Was Louis asking him to bend him over like that for real, and grab his hair, and— “Please, Daniel. I want you to.” He draped his arm across Daniel's hips.

Daniel put his arms around Louis, reflexively, but didn't move. I barely know you, he wanted to say. I don't know what this means to you. And sure, he'd barely known most of his sexual partners—but this was different. Because he did know enough about Louis to understand that he needed to tread carefully. “I don't want to hurt you,” he said, instead of all those other things he might have said, or asked. Even as he anticipated Louis' answer.

“You can't.”

Louis seemed to grow even lighter in his arms, and he was showing Daniel his neck, perhaps unconsciously, like an animal would. *I *am* sorry, Daniel*. Something in Daniel, maybe some trace of the Blood still inside him from the night before, was reacting to it. Or maybe it was just the parts of him that acknowledged the signal any creature would recognize. Daniel traced the line of Louis' throat with his fingertips. “But why?”

Louis sighed, and started to say something, and stopped. Daniel waited, but nothing came.

After a few moments, his hand moved to Louis' hair, and he felt him stiffen a bit in his arms. He stroked him lightly. He thought he understood. “You're just—” Daniel faltered. “You're tired? Aren't you, Louis?” he asked carefully.

Louis didn't say anything, only moved his arm a little against Daniel's hips. He appeared to have sunken deep inside himself, unable to answer.

“You want me to take over,” Daniel murmured. “Tell you what to do. And … I'm weaker than you, so …” He wasn't Lestat. He wasn't Armand. His power would be an illusion.

Louis sighed again, and Daniel thought he was going to stand there brooding forever, but then he said, simply, “Yes.”

He stroked Louis a little longer, considering. But he needn't have bothered. He was going to do it. Of course he was.

He'd need to prepare. He'd have to get into character, at least to start. But after that, it wouldn't be difficult. All kinds of ideas were already crowding his mind—things he could do, things he could say. Ways he could take Louis apart, like Armand did to him. No, he wouldn't suffer from a lack of imagination. Still there were certain things he wasn't willing to go near. He knew he couldn't hurt Louis, but he didn't want to treat him as though he wanted to. It was the idea that Louis was offering himself in this way, to Daniel. And it wasn't the Blood, but it was something just as intimate.

He stepped back so he could see Louis' face. Louis gazed back at him steadily, expectantly. Streaks of spit were drying on his cheeks, and up close Daniel could see the pinkish hue the Blood gave them. He wanted to lick each drop from Louis' skin. But—no. No Blood. Not Louis'. Instead he placed his thumb on Louis' lip, and stroked there, and Louis let him.

“Alright,” Daniel said finally. “But you're going to have to show me …” he began, and there was a dark note in his voice. “Show me you really want it.” And he pushed his thumb inside Louis' mouth. Louis' eyes appeared glazed and vaguely distressed, but he made a contented little sound, and then his eyes drifted closed and he started sucking. “Good,” Daniel said. He slid his thumb back and forth across Louis' tongue. “I bet you wish I was inside you,” Daniel said, and his voice already sounded raw to his ears. “You liked sucking my dick. You were good at it.” His other hand moved to hold Louis by the back of the neck. His thumb caressed his Adam's apple. Louis moaned, and the sound vibrated through his own body.

Daniel replaced the thumb in Louis' mouth with two fingers, and let Louis work them for a while, undoing Louis' jeans and pushing them down just enough to get at his ass. Then he withdrew his fingers and grabbed Louis' exposed flesh, pulling that slight body against him, looking down over Louis' shoulder to watch as he gripped the firm cheeks and pulled them apart. Louis stumbled a bit, nearly falling against him, and he couldn't tell if this was a performance or not. If Louis wanted, Daniel wouldn't be able to move him at all. If Louis wanted, he could rip Daniel to shreds.

Daniel contemplated all this as he slid his wet fingers down Louis' crack, rubbing against his hole. He was warm here, Daniel realized. Warm and very soft. Louis' body went rigid against him. And then Daniel felt him push back against his fingers. Daniel adjusted Louis' body, turning him to the side and gathering his narrow frame against his chest. His fingers went on caressing Louis' hole, pushing just inside the rim. He was tight. Daniel ignored the twitch of his own cock, but he knew Louis could feel it against his thigh.

Without warning, Daniel shoved two fingers inside of him. Louis jerked against him, hissing. But he clung to Daniel's chest, and pushed back against his hand once more. Yes, he was warm here—hot.

Daniel worked his fingers inside of him, sliding them almost all the way out before driving them back in, his palm slapping against Louis' ass. The sound was vulgar, brutal. It made a slow heat build in Daniel's gut.

Along with the lust, which was familiar enough, a strange, foreign possessiveness was radiating through him. It was seeing Louis like this; feeling him like this, from the inside. And Louis so helpless and needy. He wanted Louis to be his, Louis to belong to him—owned by him totally. He wanted to make Louis feel good. He wanted to be the one to do that. And yes. He wanted to claim him. To make him his in the one way he could, even for a short time.

And it had nothing to do with what happened in that room in San Francisco all those years ago. It had to do with what was happening between them now.

He brought his thumb back to Louis' mouth and rested it there while his other hand worked him open. Louis' lips were parted, he was panting, his eyes were closed. He licked Daniel's thumb, sucked the tip, and took it into his mouth.

“Look at me, Louis,” Daniel said. His fingers stopped moving inside him. He removed the thumb and grasped his hair by the roots and pulled and held him there. “Louis.”

Louis' eyes slid open and gleamed dully. He whined, and rocked himself against Daniel's hand.

“When I'm inside you like this,” Daniel said, “you belong to me.” He slammed his fingers into Louis again, once, twice, holding him hard by the hair. Louis shook. His mouth hung open, revealing the points of his fangs. “Do you understood?” Daniel asked, his fingers buried deep inside, stroking and stabbing at Louis mercilessly.

Daniel jerked Louis' hair when he didn't answer right away.

“Uh! Yes.”

“I'm going to fuck you, Louis,” he ground out, and there was violence in his voice.

Louis turned his face to the hand that was holding his hair and nuzzled the wrist, sighing lovingly into the skin.

“When I fuck you, you're mine,” he said, plunging his fingers inside Louis with enough force to make his body go completely rigid.

“God,” Louis sobbed. A string of drool hung from the corner of his mouth and swayed there, jerking with each thrust of Daniels' fingers. It was red—sinister, beautiful—and it made Daniel remember.

Louis was a monster. He had killed that night. He could kill Daniel, easily, if he wanted to, could probably kill him almost by accident and forget about it—just wipe Daniel from existence and think nothing of it. But not just then, not at that moment. Because at that moment, he was in Daniel's control. That knowledge—the absolute certainty of it—hit him as a physical shock, settled in his groin, and he ground himself against Louis' hip in an attempt to find an outlet for the sharp, sudden ache. Yes, Louis was powerless now, absorbed totally by what Daniel was doing to him. Overwhelmed by pure sensation.

Not that Daniel fared much better himself.

When Daniel added a third finger, Louis squeezed his eyes shut tight and began making a series of ecstatic little noises. And that was enough. It was all Daniel could stand.

He spun Louis around, gripping him by the back of his jeans, and almost dragged him into the bedroom. And in his mind, all he could think was, *He's letting me. He's *letting* me. Because he wants to*.

He pushed Louis down on the bed, on his back, and stripped off the tattered black jeans. He landed between Louis' thighs and shoved his sweater up to his armpits, and began running his hands across the surface of his body, tracing the lovely v-shape tapering into that little waist, which he gripped hard, just above his hips, pressing Louis down into the bed. Louis hooked his legs around Daniel, trying to draw him closer, but Daniel held him in place, leaning back to look at him—at the lean, muscular body, at the sparse hair covering his chest and flanks, at the dick lying, filled-out and heavy, against Louis' thigh.

Meanwhile, Louis had decided to start moving on his own, without Daniel's direction. He'd pulled his sweater up over his head, and before he could toss it aside, Daniel reached forward and caught his hands there, trapping them in the fabric. He pressed down hard on the caught wrists, and Louis arched his back, and Daniel felt his tip bump against Louis' hole.

He pulled away, taking the sweater with him, flinging it to the floor. “Roll over,” he said. He thought he said it gently. He wasn't sure. He went to the nightstand to get the lube, watching Louis complying out of the corner of his eye. And quickly, before he could second-guess himself, he removed the locket from around his neck and placed it on the nightstand. It made a dull, heavy sound against the wood, and his chest felt strange without its familiar weight—but it was too big, and its chain was too long, and he couldn't possibly wear it while he did what he was about to do.

When he returned to the bedside, he paused there, remembering to take his time, remembering how well it worked when Armand drew things out this way, how it always made the surrender that much sweeter. That, and he was so struck by what he saw, it stopped him short.

Louis lay on his belly, with his head turned to the side, gazing up at him through his hair. His eyes looked wet, and dark, and wide with a dazed, trembling submission. As Daniel watched him Louis pushed his hips into the air a little, compulsively.

Daniel knelt onto the edge of the bed, caressing the dip in Louis' back, then kneading that round, perfect ass, slapping it to see it quiver, to see Louis flinch. He'd worked his body between Louis' legs and was spreading his thighs apart with his knees. No point in making him wait, Daniel decided.

“You look good like this,” he breathed. He nudged his dick against Louis' hole, sucking in a breath at how soft it was, how pink and ready for him. Louis' hips twitched again. His hands gathered fistfuls of the coverlet. And then Daniel was pushing inside.

“Fuck,” Daniel gasped. “Oh, fuck, baby, you're tight.” Only dimly registering what he'd just called him. He couldn't be expected to pay attention to what he was saying. Not now.

When he was fully-seated, he held still for a moment, letting Louis adjust to him. Then he felt Louis squeeze him, and all he could think, over and over again was, holy shit, I'm inside, I'm inside him. Inside Louis. He was awed, full of tenderness. He pressed his thumbs into the dimples of Louis' ass and let his hips roll slowly, slowly into him. He was shaking, sweating from the discipline it took, because all he wanted to do was hold Louis down and pound and pound him until he was a pathetic, twitching puddle beneath him, just grab him and fuck him senseless, for days. He wondered if Louis was picking up those images from his mind. Louis was breathing hard, but silently, and he lay perfectly still, looking tranquilly at Daniel as if waiting for instruction.

With a steady calm he didn't feel, Daniel pushed Louis' knees up under his belly and leaned forward to plant his palm squarely between his shoulder blades. He pressed him down, forcing Louis' spine into a gentle arch that pushed his ass up in the air. “That's how I want you,” he said, his voice roughened and almost a whisper, almost like he was talking to himself. He rocked into him again, moaning this time, and fit his chest against Louis' back, his lips pressed against his jaw, which he licked at, mouthed at, moving over his cheek, the corner of his mouth. He was deep inside Louis now, barely pulling out. His hips pumped slowly, deliciously slowly, as he kissed and sucked at Louis' skin.

“You're mine, Louis?” he growled into Louis' cheek, one hand buried in his hair and the other still pushing him down, clutching his side hard enough to bruise a mortal, but not Louis. “Are you mine?”

Louis nodded, an agonized look on his face. His brows had come together, his eyes looked tearful.

Louis' distraught face made Daniel's heart blaze with tenderness, and it made him want to be cruel. He heard himself laugh, low and dark. “You like this, baby?”

“Y-yes. Mmmh.”

“You're just a hole,” Daniel said, grinding into him harshly, “for me to fuck." Louis squeezed his eyes shut and cried out—a high, sharp noise that made Daniel squeeze him tighter. “Isn't that right?”

Blood-tears had begun leaking from the corner of Louis' eye. But he nodded again, and pulsed himself around Daniel's cock.

“That's right, baby,” Daniel breathed, petting his face, his hair. “That's good.”

Daniel pulled back, sitting up, still inside. He held Louis' hips, tugging him forward and letting gravity rock him back against him, letting their bodies fall together in this gentle, easy way, barely thrusting, looking down to watch his cock bury itself in Louis' ass like it was doing it all on its own, like their bodies were coming together irresistibly, inexorably, obeying forces beyond themselves.

And then he did thrust. Hard. Twice. Louis shouted, his body jumping beneath Daniel's hands. Daniel fell back into his easy pace, feeling a smirk spreading over his face, his fingers patting Louis' ass as if to say, There, there. Patronizing. Smug. Just like his own tormentor, Armand.

“Oh, darling,” he said, softly, cruelly, “you're so pathetic right now. I wish you could see yourself.” He slowed, almost stopping, pulling back to spread Louis' cheeks, admire the place where Louis' body swallowed his. He stopped altogether to trace Louis' rim, stretched tight around him. He could feel him shivering. Then Louis rolled his face into the coverlet and began trying to rock himself against him in sweet, desperate little motions, and Daniel let him for a moment, laughing indulgently, before holding him fast. “You want it so bad, Louis,” he crooned sympathetically, laughter still in his voice. He kneaded Louis' cheeks with his hands, knowing how it would burn the already-taut, oversensitive flesh stretched around his cock. “Should I give you what you want?”

Louis moaned. He whimpered Daniel's name.

Daniel pressed into Louis' flanks with both hands, pushing down, arching his ass up even higher, bending him painfully. Louis' beautiful profile was a mess, streaked with spit and tears. And he did look pitiful, and it made Daniel want to curl himself around him protectively, and it made him want to be merciless. Before he could stop himself, Daniel gripped Louis tight and began fucking into him viciously, his mind going blank, feeling Louis go limp beneath him, Louis' face melting into an expression of absolute, mindless rapture. When Daniel somehow summoned the strength to stop, Louis shuddered, clawing at the coverlet as if pained by the sudden loss of sensation. “Oh, god,” he sobbed, his body quaking. Daniel could see the drool darkening the coverlet beneath his parted lips. “Daniel,” Louis whined, bucking his hips helplessly. “Please.”

What was left of Daniel's self-control disappeared in the face of that shameless display of need, that small, wrecked voice.

He began rocking, then pounding, into Louis, reaching forward to grasp his shoulders for leverage, pitting all his weight, all his strength, against the small white form below him, crushing it into the mattress. Louis buried his face into the coverlet, crying out with each thrust. Daniel could feel him spreading his knees, bracing his feet against the edge of the bed.

Then Daniel was reaching forward, grabbing his hair, his waist, dragging Louis to the head of the bed, where he deposited him, sprawled out, still on his belly. Daniel gripped the headboard, arranging Louis how he wanted him, and drove his hips down into that pliant, trembling body with abandon, pulling all the way out before slamming back in. Louis rose up onto his elbows, looped a foot over Daniel's calf, his head hanging down, letting himself be fucked into the mattress.

Again Daniel slowed, then almost stopped, still rocking into him with minute movements he couldn't seem to control. He pushed Louis' hair behind his ear so he could see his face. “Like before,” Daniel said. “Louis, show me.” And then Daniel was hauling Louis up by his chest and pushing him up against the headboard. Daniel dropped back to settle on his knees, withdrawing almost completely from Louis' body.

Louis gripped the headboard obediently and sank back onto Daniel's cock, seating himself there and grinding against his lap. “Like that, Louis. Show me.” Louis gazed back at him almost blindly for a moment, green eyes gleaming through his lashes, his face and neck beautifully flushed, and then he turned and began working Daniel's cock in earnest, sometimes slowing down to grind and roll against him, sometimes pulling all the way forward to tease the tip of Daniel's cock before impaling himself swiftly and viciously.

“Oh, god, you're good at that—You're—Louis—”

Up until a certain point, Daniel had been keeping his hands hooked loosely on Louis' hips, trailing up and down his sides from time to time. But watching Louis ride him—seeing Louis work so hard for him, to please him, and Louis so desperate, Louis so completely at his mercy, this powerful, dangerous being—was threatening to push him over the edge. He couldn't hold back anymore. He began pumping up into Louis, pulling Louis' hips down to meet his thrusts.

Louis made a low, broken sound. And then another. And another.

Yes, that's right, Daniel thought, you understand where you belong—in my bed, my cock inside of you, just like this. My cum—you want it, and you've worked for it, you deserve it.

Louis twisted to look back, his hair falling in his eyes.

“What is it?” Daniel heard himself growl.

“Come inside,” he said hoarsely, “Daniel.”

Oh, god. He was going to. He was close. But Louis—what about Louis? There was only one way Louis could get off.

*Do it, Daniel*. When he heard the voice he whipped his head around, losing his rhythm for a moment. No one there, not physically. He wondered if Louis had heard it too, but Louis seemed dead to the world, clinging to the headboard with his head on his arm. He'd broken out into a blood-sweat. His face was slack, and his body had gone limp again, his movements controlled completely by Daniel—letting himself be used by Daniel, fucked like a toy, owned by him. *Yes, Daniel, he's yours. He loves it, look at him, you've been so good to him. Let him bite you*.

*Goddamn it, Armand*, Daniel hissed in his mind. The voice didn't answer. Yet he was sure he was still there, probably dipping inside both their minds to watch.

He leaned forward, pressed his wrist to Louis' mouth. “Bite, Louis,” he managed to say. “Do it. Please. I'm—”

And god, god. He was coming, filling Louis up. He half-collapsed on Louis' back, still thrusting, pumping through his orgasm. And then he could feel Louis' teeth sink into his vein.

 

They lay together on top of the covers, Daniel holding Louis against his chest, and Louis, sated, drifting into mortal sleep. He hadn't taken much blood—just enough to leave them sparking and shuddering against each other, their bodies ringing like bells. Daniel felt deliciously hollow, used-up, but not faint, not sick. He fought the urge to slip his fingers between Louis' thighs and search for the semen that must be leaking out by now, defiling that perfect skin. Instead he lay there wondering if he could fill him up all over again, and how soon. God, he wanted to. He would do it now if he could.

Suddenly it was as though a great weight were pressing on his arm, threatening to crush it. Louis had fallen asleep, trapping Daniel's arm beneath him. And, holy shit, what an illusion his lightness had been! Daniel had just been dragging him across the bed, for chrissakes—he'd come inside him, and his dick had survived to tell the tale—and now Louis was like stone.

“Louis. Louis!”

Louis woke with a start and rolled over.

“Ah,” he said softly. “I'm sorry.”

They lay facing each other for one long, strange moment, then Louis pressed close and tucked his head into the hollow of Daniel's shoulder. Daniel had felt a little unpleasant shock at the blood-tears crusted on Louis' face. He remembered relishing the sight of them—glorious!—while he was pounding into him, but maybe he'd made a mistake—misjudged the situation. Daniels' arms went around him, lightly stroking his back, his hair, and Louis stretching out like a cat under his touch. Daniel marveled at that. Just stroking him like this practically made him melt against him. And Daniel wondered, his heart sinking suddenly, whether this wasn't what Louis truly desired—just to be held close by another being, the feel of gentle hands on his body.

“Louis.”

“Hmm.” He was starting to drift again.

“I liked that,” Daniel said.

Louis reached out to caress his injured arm. Daniel couldn't see his face.

“Did you?” Daniel asked. “Like it?”

“Daniel, I liked it.” He sounded a little amused.

“It wasn't too—? I kind of got carried away.”

Louis squeezed him hard around his middle. “No.”

Daniel planted an anxious kiss to his hair, hesitating, and then said, “We can always just touch. I can touch you like this,” he said, running his hand along Louis' side. “I like to do it. It doesn't have to be sex.”

Louis pressed his face against Daniel's chest. He didn't speak for a long time, and Daniel might have thought he'd fallen back asleep, except his hand was still moving in little circles over Daniel's back. “Thank you,” Louis said, finally. Daniel didn't know what he was thanking him for exactly—the sex or the offer to not have sex, or something else—and it bothered him, but then Louis spoke again. “Is it alright if I sleep here for a little while?”

“Sure,” Daniel said. “Of course.”

Louis nodded, and shifted a little. “Your arm.”

Daniel moved his arm.

Louis gripped him tightly one last time, then curled himself against Daniel's chest.

“Thank you, Daniel,” he said again, and promptly fell asleep.

 

After a few minutes, Daniel heard Armand enter the apartment, making needless noise like a mortal. He was moving through the living room. Then Daniel heard the couch creak under his weight.

*I'm here to take Louis to his resting place*, Armand's voice spoke in his mind. Daniel tried to angle his head to look at the clock. *Not yet, Daniel. You have a few minutes*.

Daniel settled back against Louis, running his fingers nervously through Louis' fine black hair, which was tangled now and obscenely crusted with fluids.

*Daniel*, Armand said, *He liked it*.

A little wave of relief passed through Daniel, then anger. *Did you set this up?*

*No, Daniel, not at all*. A little chuckle. *You surprised me, my love. Your intensity. I didn't know you were capable of wielding such … command*.

*I learn from the best*.

*A gentleman and a scholar*.

There was a little buzzing sensation in his head as Armand's voice receded, and then Daniel heard the television switch on.

 

END (Unless you want to read the next chapter, which follows Daniel and Louis through the next three weeks and into the 2000s, but diverges somewhat dramatically in tone and content, ha ha. As in: more angst, less sex-having. So if you want to stop here I don't blame you!)

 

$$$

* accidental _Blood and Gold_ foreshadowing

$$$ 

 

NOTES

Hi! This is my first fanfic in years. Like 15 years. I don't know if I'll write any others, but I had a lot of fun and hope you enjoyed it!! [EDIT: I did end up writing a second "chapter" (each chapter could probably work as a standalone, and I might have organized them differently, but oh well) and have ideas for others. I really don't know where I'm going with this. Thanks for bearing with me.]

(There are other WhiskeySalads on the internet, but they ain't me. Not on any other social or fanfic sites at the moment--just here. [EDIT: Fuck: I now have a Tumblr: <https://lewhiskeysalad.tumblr.com/>])


	2. I Bless Everyone Who Kissed You Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's sadder and little less porn-y. Title from the Michael Ondaatje poem, "Kissing the Stomach."
> 
> *Mentions of dubious/non- consent, using sex to escape, stigmatization of mental illness, abusive relationships. An allusion to the events of _Merrick_. (But it's not all darkness and misery! There be, I think, some sweet and nice things, too.)* I may have stretched timelines and other details. This probably could use another edit or two, as well, and I may dip back through to do some tidying. Marius is here, briefly.

Daniel had been led to believe that for vampires, one touch was as good as another. But when Daniel kissed and licked Louis' left nipple, for example, Louis' breath would hitch, and Daniel had to know he liked it in a significantly different way than he enjoyed the press of Daniel's hand at the small of his back or the times Daniel ran his fingers, with wonder, over the mortal-soft hairs of his shin. And there were other things. Telling things. For instance, the tiny ice-pink nipple would harden, and grow dusky with blood, and if Daniel took it gently between his teeth, Louis' chest would arch toward him and his eyes would flutter closed. 

Louis' dick always felt firm, it always felt *heavy*, but it never so much as twitched in Daniel's mouth, it never grew erect. However, the skin there would change as Daniel licked and sucked and stroked; it would darken, and fill with heat. And when Daniel would finally let Louis' cock slip from his mouth, Louis' cheeks and the tips of his ears would be flushed the deepest shade of pink, and he'd be panting, looking down at Daniel from where he'd propped himself up against Daniel's ratty pillow with heavy-lidded, dark, and vibrant eyes. And Daniel would know with certainty that he'd meant it when he'd said, that first night, that touching like this felt good to him. 

*Being touched by *you*, Daniel*, Armand would tell him, his fangs in his neck, holding him close on the couch in the early evening while Louis hunted out in the dark, nearby. *He loves being touched by *you**. And he would tear a gash in his own neck, and guide Daniel to it, and in the Blood, Daniel would see flashes of two bodies entwined, his and Louis'—a surge of Armand's own pleasure, his tenderness, at the sight—and he would hear Armand's voice telling him he loved him, and he would feel Armand's hands on his body. 

Most nights, along with this molasses-rich, humming pleasure, he would pick up little glimmers of fear in the bright sparks of blood entering his system. It wasn't unusual, from one instant to the next, to smell charred flesh, hear the crackle of flames—brief sensations, quickly lost in the tide. Then, after Louis had been staying with them for nearly a week, he saw, in Armand's blood, something new. Dark, dead eyes in a familiar face, somewhere cold and vile—and then he was hurling the thing at the bars of his cell, trying to get it away from him. 

Daniel shuddered against the small, solid body pressed tightly against him. He didn't know what he was seeing, didn't know if Armand meant him to be pulling these images from his mind. Nevertheless, they kept coming, rendered more and more clearly with each drop of blood.

He saw Louis. They were in a dark place, and Louis' eyes were flat and dull, like the eyes of the other one back in the cell. And he would feel that familiar stab of terror, the instinct to take this thing, this strange dead thing, and hurl it away from him. But he didn't do that. He pulled it to him and ripped the collar away and bit down. The living blood poured into his mouth. Good. Alive. *Alive*. But the eyes never changed. And the mind had closed to him. And he would panic and drive his teeth in again, over and over again, hating himself—but all that ugliness was washed away in the Blood, drummed away by the steady, reassuring beat of Louis' immortal heart. He could have Louis in this way. He could hold him like this, locked to him, and tell himself it was as good as love—indeed, that these violent, feverish acts constituted no less than the purest expression of love for their kind.

But Louis wouldn't touch *him*. He permitted his bite, his desperate touches, but he never touched back, and he never drove his own fangs into Armand's skin, though Armand's blood beat hard beneath the surface, begging him to. 

Louis on his knees in an alley. Louis letting some mortal rut against him, half-clothed, Louis' beautiful face shoved up against the wall in a stairwell. Louis pinned beneath another, larger, body, his legs knotted around him. Louis' obvious pleasure. When Armand would plunge his teeth into him later, he would see it. He would come to understand that these were no frantic acts of self-degradation, as he had feared. No acts of revenge, either. Louis appeared to find a hazy, blood-tinted peace in those moments, in the illusion of powerlessness, in the sensation of his body being filled up and used. However roughly, or tenderly. His body responded the same—as a mortal's might (or nearly). As it never did to Armand, no matter how he touched him. 

If Louis felt guilt later, if he hated himself for the usual reasons, for finding pleasure where he could, he hid it from Armand. As he hid nearly everything. Everything but these strange, captivating scenes he reserved for the hours closest to dawn, when the sky was at its darkest and the slightest miscalculation could mean disaster. 

Armand had always followed him, and Louis had accepted it. But at some point, Louis started leading him along to these encounters willingly. He allowed Armand into his mind. He began looking to Armand, seated across the room, in those moments when every cell of his body was lit up and shivering; his anguished eyes would find Armand's, and Armand would talk to him, petting his gloriously blank mind, *Yes. Good. So beautiful, Louis … Now take him.* 

And he would. And when he was done, Louis would allow Armand to come to him there—his mouth still dripping, the mortal's cum still trickling from his body—and take him in the only way he could. Armand would lay him down, like those others laid him down, and touch him in the places the mortals had touched him, and kiss him, and drink. Always unable to look into those eyes, already cold and distant. Inside him like that, utterly rooted, he would silently, cowardly plead with him, though Louis couldn't hear him, the iron gates of his mind closed once more. It was the same. Over and over again, in every city, in every decade, the same. 

But Armand had to know that Louis killed for him. He never did it on his own, not the ones he let have him like that. He did it for Armand to see. 

So Daniel knew all this, and knew that Armand had wanted him to see it, but what he was supposed to do with it, he didn't know. Louis kept coming to his room. They lay down together. They undressed, they touched. And at some point, Louis would wrap those long legs around him, and make it clear what he wanted. 

How Armand dealt with the jealousy, he didn't know. Daniel hadn't liked seeing Louis with those others, even second-hand. And here Daniel was one of them, just another warm body for Louis to hold onto, to forget himself under. Not distinguishable in any significant way from the rest. 

It went on like this, every night, the same. Louis would let himself into the apartment after midnight. He and Daniel would go to the bedroom and lay on Daniel's narrow bed. Daniel would touch him, always through his clothes to start, and they would kiss sometimes, or Daniel would kiss Louis—dropping little kisses anywhere he could reach, sometimes little bites, little harmless nips, pressing his teeth against that deceptively fragile skin. Then one of them would start to undress the other, and soon they'd each be naked, lying side by side. They didn't speak, while they did any of this. Louis would lie still while Daniel moved his hands over him, touching every part of him. And Daniel would come to learn through the movements of Louis' body shifting against his own, the slow rise and fall of his ribs, the gleam of his luminous eyes, that he enjoyed these touches, and that his pleasure, whatever it felt like to him, was genuine. 

Louis smelled like the clothes he wore, or like the air outside, or he smelled like nothing at all. Sometimes he smelled like his victims. Daniel would catch the remnants of perfume or smoke or alcohol clinging to his pristine, shimmering skin. Mostly he smelled like Daniel. 

He smelled like the things Daniel did to him. 

And when Daniel held him afterwards, as he always did, Daniel would dip his head into Louis' neck, or bury his face in his hair, or kiss his swollen, reddened lips, and smell himself there, and taste himself, and a hot surge of satisfaction would ease the anxiety in his chest—the dull, persistent ache that always sharpened in Louis' presence—until he would have to have him again. 

Armand was never in the room with them. He stayed clear of the apartment while they were together. But Daniel could sense the pleasant shift in his mind when Armand slid into his thoughts, and he could feel his protective presence when he and Louis lay together after, as if Armand were wrapped up in the sheets with them, holding them both. Armand never spoke—after that first time—until they were finished, and Daniel was pressed loosely against Louis, with Louis' tongue catching a few drops of spilled blood from his chest, perhaps, or his own fingers finding the pearls of cum spattered across Louis' back, just to touch it lightly and then take his hand away, satisfied. Even then, Armand would rarely speak, only transmit a powerful wave of feeling. *I love you I love you I love you I love you*. 

The generosity of that love, Daniel didn't think he would ever understand. He could only melt under it, lose himself in it, and try to be deserving of it limitlessness, its intensity. 

Well, not entirely limitless. Daniel was still mortal, after all. Louis had left him so, years ago, and Armand continued to refuse him as well. And now that he was of use to them in this particular, human way, he doubted if that would ever change. He supposed he should be grateful to be of use, and loved. Deeply, fiercely adored by his amber-eyed, somber, utterly devoted demon-lover. 

What Louis felt for him—*him* for his own sake, rather than these ordinary and brutal and miraculous things they did to one another—Daniel didn't know. 

Daniel might have thought things would go on this way forever. He would have welcomed it. But it wasn't up to him. 

 

One night Louis came into his bedroom later than usual, and stayed well into the early morning hours. Dawn was on its way: one hour off, forty-five minutes off … Daniel could hear Armand moving restlessly around in the living room, waiting for Louis to emerge. 

As the minutes ticked on, Louis seemed to grow more and more still, and was lying almost motionless in Daniel's arms by the time Daniel began to feel truly alarmed. But Daniel only lay there, stroking the strangely rigid, impassive body attached to him. 

When he didn't think he could wait a second longer, Louis stirred at last. 

“Daniel,” he said slowly, oddly formally, as if they hadn't just been inside each other in equally intense, if markedly different, ways. “Daniel, I have to go.”

He knew instantly what Louis meant. His arms froze around Louis' body, absurdly, feeling as though they belonged to someone else.

Daniel tried to shut out the images of that face—those strange varicolored eyes, not so unlike his own in the right light, the blond hair, the maniacal smile. He didn't even allow himself to think the name. Too much. That would be too much honesty. When Daniel spoke, his voice was small. “When?”

“Tomorrow night.” 

Daniel could feel the sun racing toward them. He could feel every mile of it. He wondered if Louis felt it like that. He honestly didn't know. They'd fucked every night for almost three weeks straight, Daniel had once recorded Louis' entire life story, but he didn't know the most basic things about him. 

No—it wasn't as if they really knew each other, it wasn't as if these nights wrapped up in each others' arms constituted a relationship, it wasn't as if Louis owed him anything. Daniel tried to steady himself around these facts. 

Daniel might have asked why he was going back, but he knew. He'd known back then, back when Louis sat across from him with nothing but a sticky, battered table between them, the sound of Louis' soft yet implacable voice filling the air, as if the refined being producing it was beyond such paltry human sentiments, as if he was in fact incapable of returning the tenderness and love and desire he seemed to inspire so easily in others. But Daniel had known better. And if he'd known better then, he had no doubts about it now. 

He wanted to be angry with Louis. He wanted to be jealous. Anything would be better than this icy sense of loss piercing his gut, this numb resignation to forces more powerful—always more powerful—than himself. Instead, to his horror, Daniel heard himself begging in a low, roughened voice. “Can't you stay? Just a little longer?” 

He felt Louis' cool breath stir against his chest. “No,” he said simply, quietly, and Daniel could tell from the sound of his voice that he had closed his eyes and that if Daniel pulled away to see, Louis wouldn't look at him. 

Daniel reached out to smooth Louis hair, kissing the crown of his head. He couldn't bear to say it, but of course he understood. He did know. He understood that pull all too well. *It's alright* he said as loudly as he could, in his mind, because he couldn't get his mouth to form the words. It wasn't alright. Not at all. But what would it mean to admit it? What would it change? Nothing. So he kept repeating the words: It's alright, it's alright. He didn't know if Louis could hear him or not. He thought he felt him relax a little in his arms.

Suddenly Louis took one of Daniel's hands in both of his own, trapping it between their bodies. “I have to,” Louis said, stroking his hand imploringly. “I … ” His entire body seemed to sag. “I'm ...” 

“It's alright,” Daniel finally managed to say. “It's alright, I know.” 

Louis gripped his middle tightly, as if by reflex, and Daniel tilted that sharp, finely-molded chin up to kiss him, and relished the movement of Louis' lashes against his skin, the point of Louis' nose pressing into his cheek as he kissed back, hard. Daniel clutched him close, his hands seeking familiar paths, hips pressing together, and Louis flung a leg over his thigh, drawing him in—but there was no time. Daniel forced himself to pull away. “He's waiting.” He'd meant Armand. But he felt himself go cold.

Daniel sat up against the headboard, watching Louis dress. Such a simple, intimate thing. Louis hesitated there before the closed door when he finished, his tangled black hair falling into his face. He pushed it behind his ear, an impatient little gesture that Daniel had seen him make a dozen times before. It hurt, to see it. It hurt to look at Louis at all. But Louis was saying something. “Daniel,” he murmured, with difficulty, “I hope to see you again.” To his credit, Daniel didn't laugh. So absurd. Yet the words had layers of meaning, and they hit him at once. He shifted his eyes to his own hand curled uselessly against the sheets. 

Hope to see *you* again, he might have said, darkly. He might have said other things, too. *Don't go back there. Go live on the bottom of the ocean with those strange, luminous creatures so like and unlike yourself. Anything. Don't go back to him.* Or he might have said: *Take care of yourself, be safe, please be happy.* Or any permutation of these things. 

But when he looked back, Louis was gone. 

Armand must have known what he was thinking, must have heard everything, but he remained a silent, shapeless presence in Daniel's mind. Daniel could hear the two beings leaving the apartment. The door closed. 

When he saw Louis again, he was pressed against him, in the circle of Armand's arms. Only briefly. And everything was wrong. After that—Night Island, where Louis rarely ventured from his room until he left suddenly for New Orleans, obsessed with Jesse's story about discovering the ghost of his little girl. After that, Daniel didn't see him again for many years.

 

“He insists on keeping the lights off,” Marius said from the doorway. Daniel intended to ignore him and continue with his work. He would have ignored him, if that other one hadn't spoken. He knew that voice. It asked to stay here with Daniel a while. 

Marius sounded disappointed. “Of course, if you'd like.” Daniel could see a familiar shadow slipping along the floorboards. He knew it. He did. “I didn't know you were close.”

“May I be alone with him?” Louis asked. He was standing right next to Daniel now. Yes, Louis. He didn't dare look at him. He didn't dare react. Daniel went on painting a tiny gravestone for his miniature cemetery, slipping a veil over his mind as unobtrusively as he could. 

“I'm afraid you may find him poor company at the moment,” Marius said. The bastard. “He's ill.”

“I don't mind,” Louis said softly. “I'm used to it.”

Was that a joke? It must have been. Marius chuckled a little, sounding surprised.

“Yes, Lestat has been a challenge for us all at times. And you, Louis? How are you? It's good to see you so unchanged. I worried—” 

“I'm fine,” Louis said. His hand was on Daniel's shoulder. Keep working. “Though,” he said, very quietly, “I am changed.”

But Daniel was thinking about how it was true, that Louis was often close to—and frequently cared for—people who were unwell. He remembered Louis' stories of his brother, the one who had visions: Paul. And then, Lestat.

“Of course,” Marius said. Out of the corner of his eye, Daniel watched Marius move closer. “If you need to confide—”

“I'll come to you,” Louis said, graciously, appearing to track the progress of a red and yellow Santa Fe diesel. “Thank you.”

“I'll leave you with him, then,” Marius said, that doubtful tone hanging in his voice. “If you like. I'll be in the garden.”

Daniel listened to Marius's footsteps recede as he left the room and turned the corner down the hall. But Louis was already kneeling at his side, his hand trailing down Daniel's shoulder to rest on his forearm. Daniel put the little gravestone and paintbrush down and looked into Louis' face. White. Bleached white. His eyes a more brilliant green, shining with an unnatural luster. But still Louis. He brought his hand to that lovely face, feeling himself smile, and then Louis was dragging him gently down to the floor, right there in the middle of Daniel's bustling little world. 

Daniel's hands easily closed themselves around the shape of Louis' body as if they'd never left it—though he could scarcely move. Louis had him wrapped tightly in his arms, and Daniel could feel his new strength, imagined he could see it emanating from him. How Louis must hate it, he thought distantly.

Louis pressed his forehead against Daniel's, and they lay like that, as they used to. Louis cupped his cheek, kissed him once, sweetly, reverently, as if he were a precious, sacred thing. 

“Louis,” Daniel said. “I'm not … " His voice sounded broken, and he cringed in shame. But he needed to say it. “I'm different. I'm not—”

“I know,” said Louis. 

Daniel opened his eyes, met Louis' steady gaze. 

“I think of you,” Louis whispered, moving closer, his hand in Daniel's hair, his eyes glimmering, infused with emotion. “We change,” he said, “but I can't stop thinking about you.”

Daniel closed his eyes. He hid his face in Louis' shoulder, though he knew he wouldn't cry, as much as he wanted to. “He doesn't love me anymore,” he said, numbly.

Louis' arms tightened around him then. He was crushed against Louis' chest, but he didn't mind. Louis smelled nice, like rain. Rain, and wood-smoke, and blood. 

They held each other there on the floor, amid the darkened little towns and the motionless figurines, the silent forests. The trains glided ceaselessly along their tracks, encircled them in the dark.

*

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A few more notes ...

Well, sorry this was kind of a bummer. But that's vampires for you. Thanks for reading. There may be more stories featuring vampire-Daniel on the way, but I may organize them in parts rather than chapters. 

Obviously, Armand still loves the shit out of Daniel!


End file.
